This is a commission for anonymous, who requested a LancerArtoria x Morgan pairing where both ladies are mistaken about hating one another and Morgan is the one to become pregnant with their child.

Thanks go to GrimGrave for beta reading this piece :3

-Beneath Night's Veil-

Morgan was a lot of things: the True King of the British Isles, a genius enchantress, an immortal fae, and a woman willing to set the entire world ablaze to quench her thirst for vengeance. There was one thing she was not, no matter what history books might say about her one day, and that was a monster. And only a monster could hate someone like Artoria Pendragon.

She would gladly have Uther and Merlin dragged behind wild horses, but she would never touch a hair on her little sister's head. It was by no fault of Artoria's that the King and his wretched little lapdog mage had cheated Morgan out of her inheritance. She could only imagine the filthy mud they'd slung in order to poison her sister against her and the thought made her blood boil.

That being said, that didn't mean Artoria would be left out of her scheming. Morgan pulled a thick, ornate tome from the shelf, blowing lightly over the top edge to disperse the dust that had accumulated. She placed the spell book on a wooden lectern before undoing the protective seal that kept it from prying eyes; it creaked, as though in protest, when she opened it.

Come to think of it, Morgan couldn't remember the last time she had used this particular book. She thumbed through it quickly, browsing the catalogue of spells: invisibility, shape shifting, immortality, clairvoyance—the stuff of a mortal's wildest dreams. Finally, she found what she was looking for and began casting, her piercing blue eyes glowing as power surged through her. When the energy faded, it left behind a lingering warmth in the pit of Morgan's stomach.

The best laid plans were slow and deliberate, coming to fruition when your enemy least expected. A true victory could only be claimed once your enemy lay decimated in every sense of the word at your feet. This was just the first step of her carefully calculated machinations.

This fertility spell was powerful enough to return life to earth razed by hellfire and make the most barren of environments livable. When used on a person, the spell made it possible to conceive a child—even with a member of the same sex.

The woman who would sire Morgan's child would be none other than Artoria Pendragon.

Theirs had been a strained relationship for some time now. It would likely be much easier if Morgan simply cast a spell to make Artoria more susceptible to her advances, but such a spell often had disastrous side effects on the target's free will and turned them into a babbling, drooling fool. The very notion of a "love spell" was utter rubbish—the best one could hope to achieve with magic was complete and total subjugation of their target.

Besides, Morgan Le Fay wasn't known as the most beautiful of nine sisters who ruled Avalon, the Fortunate Isle, without reason. No one, man or woman, could resist her charms. Come nightfall, the enchantress would put her plan into motion.

...

Morgan slipped into the castle under the cover of darkness. The guards weren't worth whatever they were being paid; it was child's play to dispatch them, even without her spear. The enchantress reached towards a wall-mounted torch, capturing a spark in her palm. It illuminated her path as Morgan mounted the spiral staircase and began her ascent.

If she remembered correctly, Artoria's room was at the top of a spire in the castle's west wing. There was a guard posted at her door, clad in a suit of shiny armour. The moment he saw Morgan, his hand went to his hip, but it was too late; he didn't get the opportunity to close his fingers around the grip before he fell under her spell. He saluted smartly, no longer recognizing the enchantress as the enemy, and then opened the door for her.

"Don't let anyone else past you."

"Yes, My Lady."

The room beyond him was dark, though a sliver of moonlight filtered in through the heavy curtains over the window. When the door shut the sound was louder than she would have liked, but Morgan could still hear the soft sound of steady breathing and she moved towards it, the hem of her gown whispering across the stone flooring. Nice and easy. No sense rushing when she was so close to her goal.

Morgan blew on the flame in her palm and it sailed across the room, as if on an air current, and landed in the unlit hearth. A fire sprung to life with a roar, bathing the room in light and warmth, and revealing the canopy bed at the far end of the room. A fur rug muffled Morgan's footsteps as she approached Artoria's bedside and pushed aside the lace curtain that encircled her.

Artoria proved to be a sound sleeper; the noise didn't wake her, and neither did the way the bed dipped or the springs creaked beneath Morgan's added weight. It was only when the white-haired woman moved to straddle the sleeping blonde did Artoria's eyelids flutter, then open.

Emerald orbs sharpened in an instant. "Morgan?!"

They were enemies—at least as far as Artoria was concerned. She must have been terrified that her life was in danger, her mind racing to find a way flee while her body flooded with adrenaline to help her fight, should it come to that. Morgan wouldn't allow her to do either.

"It's been a long time, Sister," she purred, clamping her hand down over the blonde's mouth. "Please don't spoil our reunion by causing a ruckus."

Eyes the same colour and clarity of an emerald met hers unflinchingly. If Artoria was afraid she'd never show it, and a thrill of excitement zipped along Morgan's spine at the thought of dominating her. She squeezed her hand, a threat of violence to assure Artoria's compliance, before removing the appendage entirely.

"Too long," Artoria said at last, quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"You have something I want." Morgan walked her fingers along Artoria's collarbone, left bare by the plunging neckline of her nightgown. Her breasts strained against the silken fabric, far too large for such a small article, and the enchantress's mouth watered. She had to drag her gaze upwards and remind herself why she was here. There would be time for that later. "If you cooperate, I won't harm you."

Artoria canted her head to the side, exposing the pale column of her throat. Morgan wanted so badly to mark it with her teeth... Once again, the enchantress had to reign in her wandering gaze, but this time she noticed a smirk curving full lips and it put her immediately on-guard. Artoria was behaving strangely. Was this simply the calm before the storm?

"And if I refuse?"

Artoria sat up and Morgan allowed it, watching warily. Doing so brought their faces into nerve-wracking proximity and the enchantress's heartrate accelerated. Artoria had always been a gorgeous woman and seeing her up close like this allowed Morgan to appreciate it like never before; the buxom blonde had pale unblemished skin, depthless green orbs set into regal features, and an air of authority. Lesser individuals before her had bowed to the unspoken command in the blonde's gaze and even Morgan felt the need to prostrate herself before Artoria, however briefly the urge surfaced before it was quashed.

Morgan cleared her throat surreptitiously. "Would you really refuse me, dear sister?"

When Artoria chuckled, the husky sound was an invitation. "That would depend on what you're asking of me."

Just what was happening here? Morgan was supposed to be seducing her sister, not the other way around!

"Artoria..."

The moment Morgan's guard lowered, Artoria threw the bedsheet over her head and tackled her to the floor. They wrestled for dominance, becoming a tangle of limbs and fabric. Both women were quite well-endowed and their breasts mashed together as they grappled each other. Every time full swells came into contact— sometimes a brief slam and other times a lingering, rubbing motion—a thrill of excitement shot along Morgan's spine. How would that feel without clothing?

The enchantress was the stronger of the two, but she found herself at a disadvantage, distracted as she was by Artoria's impressive physique. Their tussle brought them closer to the fire, the heat of it and their physical altercation causing a sheen of sweat break out on pale skin. She could see the way Artoria's nipples strained against the front of her nightgown and that shift in attention was all the blonde needed to flip and pin Morgan beneath her. The twisted up sheets became a makeshift restraint, binding the enchantress's hands above her head.

"You dare come into my castle and make demands of me?"

Gone was the minx Morgan had gotten a glimpse of, replaced with an indomitable monarch. The enchantress didn't fear for her safety, still confident that she could turn the tables should she need to, but she was curious as to what her sibling-turned-rival intended to do. This would have been the perfect opportunity for the blonde to call for the guard—which was why Morgan was surprised when Artoria hoisted her upright, onto her knees, and then pushed her down onto all-fours.

For one alarm-fueled moment, Morgan thought her sister might do something rash. "I—"

Artoria's palm met Morgan's buttock with a loud smack! "Quiet."

Whatever Morgan had been about to say was forgotten as wet heat flooded the junction of her thighs, the pain overridden almost entirely by arousal. None of the possible scenarios she had gone over in her head had included having Artoria manhandle her in this manner... Or that she would enjoy it this much.

Morgan put up the token protest—threats of violence, bucking, squirming, and tugging at her restraints—but ultimately she didn't try very hard to escape. Her body was far more honest than her mouth, however, and as her "punishment" continued, Morgan was hard pressed not to let her pleasurable sounds escape past gritted teeth. After one particularly firm smack, she groaned—a quiet, inconsequential utterance—and the assault halted abruptly.

"Are you... enjoying this?" Artoria sounded incredulous and Morgan flushed despite herself.

"I'm not— Ah..." Throaty, steeped in desire—was that her voice? The hand cupping her sex rubbed firmly and even through the fabric of her underwear Morgan could feel how slick she was. There was no way to explain away her physiological response, but Morgan tried anyway. "Stop! Don't—!"

Her protest fell on deaf ears as Artoria nudged her underwear aside and pushed three fingers inside without warning. On the one hand, being penetrated—being stretched open —so suddenly actually hurt, but on the other, as the initial discomfort faded, it begun to feel... Good. Very good.

Morgan mewled, burying her face in her forearms as she arched. The fingers within her curved, hitting a spot deep within that made her see stars, and she wasn't able to muffle the loud moan that escaped her. Her hips moved of their own volition to meet Artoria's fingers, seeking to prolong the molten pleasure that assailed her. The rough, hard thrusts became rougher still; Artoria's pace became frenzied and she leaned over Morgan, her teeth stinging at the curve of the enchantress's shoulder.

It didn't take long for orgasm to approach, a deliciously out-of-control sensation that made Morgan's toes curl and her eyes roll back in her head. One particularly hard bite actually drew blood; a warm rivulet dripped down her collarbone, creating a series of small crimson spots on the rug, and Morgan released a hiss as it sent her over the edge. She vaguely heard Artoria swear above her and, suddenly, Morgan found herself on her back, her sex empty and aching as she looked up at the blonde. She expected to see a savage sort of glee in green eyes; instead they were wide, concerned.

"Did I hurt you? I-I got caught up in the moment and..."

Was this really hate? It didn't feel like hate. It took Morgan a moment to gather herself, her inner muscles still clenching spasmodically. "... I'm fine."

They stared at each other for longer than was comfortable, each woman trying to get into the other's head. There was no animosity there, just caution and inquisitiveness.

"So you are enjoying yourself," Artoria said quietly. Her expression was unreadable as she watched for Morgan's reaction.

The enchantress averted her gaze, scowling even as she blushed hotly. Her jaw had actually begun to hurt from clenching her teeth to prevent her sounds from escaping. To admit to her "enemy" that she was enjoying herself made her feel vulnerable and that was something her pride would not allow.

"... I don't dislike it," she relented at last.

"I thought..." Whatever Artoria had thought was lost in a deep, shuddering sigh. Green eyes were unusually shiny and the vulnerability of the expression was like an arrow through Morgan's heart.

The enchantress freed herself of the sheet bindings, the sound of ripping fabric making Artoria flinch. Before Artoria could even react, Morgan pulled her into a tight hug.

Regardless of where they stood, it was the only way she could think to provide the comfort the younger woman clearly needed. The blonde didn't protest, though it was with some trepidation that Artoria returned the embrace, looping her arms loosely around her sister's neck. They stayed like that for a little while, each buried in their own thoughts. Then—

"Artoria."

The blonde stirred. "Mm?"

Morgan felt silly for even asking, but she needed to know: "Do you hate me?"

"Why?"

"Humour me."

Morgan felt the woman tense briefly, but then Artoria sighed and the tension left her body. "It's exhausting."

"What is?"

"Maintaining this facade."

She couldn't mean... Morgan began to laugh, quietly at first but with growing volume as realization dawned and her mirth intensified. When Artoria's puzzled face proved to be absolutely adorable, Morgan only laughed harder. Eventually, her laughter subsided and she wrapped her arms around Artoria again and gave her the biggest hug she possibly could.

"This entire time I had thought you'd be weak to Merlin and Uther's suggestions, but I should have known better. You're my sister after all." Artoria smiled faintly. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean, but... You could have escaped this entire time?"

Ah. She had done that, hadn't she? Morgan shrugged. "Had I felt the need to, yes."

"So you let me spank you."

"... I merely wanted to see how far you would go."

"Right." Mirth sparkled in dark green eyes and the blonde's entire imposing demeanor softened in that instant. "I'll allow you to keep believing that if it helps."

That cheeky little... But it felt better than Morgan had imagined to be able to have this sort of friendly back-and-forth with her sibling. It felt natural. Had they really wasted all this time playing a part? And for what?

"I never hated you," Morgan confessed. "I couldn't."

Artoria bit her lip. "I feel the same way. Every time Merlin and Father spoke badly of you, I had to bite my tongue."

They would both pay dearly for that. Something dark flashed across the enchantress's face and Artoria reached up and cupped her cheek, forcing piercing blue eyes to meet hers. Morgan resisted at first, but when Artoria rested her forehead against hers, she did actually feel calmer.

"What's done is done. We can't change it, but..." Artoria smiled shyly. "We can certainly make up for lost time."

Did she mean...? Morgan had already assumed and been made a fool of once. She wasn't going to make that same mistake. "What are you suggesting?"

"You're the one who snuck into my bed chambers late at night." A coy smile made Morgan's heart skip a beat and she sat up a little straighter. There was only a scant few inches between their faces and the tension that filled the air was almost palpable. "You tell me."

Morgan wasn't sure who leaned in first. What she did know was that kissing Artoria was something she could not do without from here on out. When she parted her lips to vocalize her approval Artoria's tongue took full advantage; their tongues twisted against one another in a sensual dance as their hands explored each other's body.

Morgan made short work of Artoria's nightgown, and she was pleased to learn that the woman was naked underneath. The blonde was incredibly well-endowed and pale pink nipples stood at attention, begging to be pinched and tugged. Morgan heeded their call, wrapping her lips around a turgid peak and flicking her tongue against it while she pinched and rolled its twin between her fingers. Her attentions were well-received;

Artoria moaned and arched, her fingers tangling in white tresses to keep Morgan in place.

Goosebumps broke out on Artoria's skin as she moaned blissfully. Every time Morgan touched her nipples, it sent a bolt of pleasure zipping straight to her core. She was so aroused she could actually feel her excitement leaking out onto her thighs and she squeezed them together to ease the ache at their apex.

When Morgan nuzzled into her hair, full lips brushed against the sensitive curve of her ear and Artoria whimpered. The reaction didn't go unnoticed and the wicked woman wasted no time purring lewd promises into Artoria's ear, her fingers toying with pebbled peaks, while the blonde shivered and blushed. She was putty in Morgan's hands, hot and pliant just so long as the enchantress continued to wreak sweet havoc on her bust.

She only half heard what Morgan was saying through the haze of lust that settled over her senses, and she couldn't control the far-too-honest responses that kept escaping her mouth:

"Did you want me that badly, dear sister? Look at the mess you've made..."

"Yes..." Artoria gasped.

"I didn't catch that." Morgan smiled serenely, her fingers moving between splayed thighs.

"Yes. Mm...!"

"Who would have thought the King of Britain would be so lewd."

"Stop *Ah* teasing me."

"Hmhmhm. You're moving your hips as though you want something more."

"Please..."

A frustrated groan left the blonde as Morgan removed her hand, but it died in her throat when the enchantress's attentions returned to her breasts. Waves of pleasure washed through her, a warm sort of pressure building steadily in her loins, and it wasn't until she was close that Artoria realized, mortified, that she was going to climax simply from having her breasts fondled. She tried to focus on something else—anything besides the way her inner muscles twitched and pleasure threatened to overtake her senses—with minimal success and almost breathed a sigh of relief when Morgan stopped.

Morgan could have spent all night worshipping that perfect rack, but the throbbing at the apex of her thighs was becoming impossible to ignore. She leaned up and kissed Artoria firmly, taking the blonde's hand in hers and guiding it between her legs. She bit her lip, the contact making her inner muscles twitch eagerly.

"Touch me."

It was a command, not a request. Artoria arched an eyebrow, but she made no comment. Soon, Morgan's dress joined Artoria's on the floor and they changed positions, arranging themselves so that they could stimulate each other simultaneously. Morgan was on top, her arms wrapped around Artoria's thighs as she nuzzled between them. Meanwhile, Artoria leaned up to press kisses against Morgan's lower lips, her hands kneading the full globes of the enchantress's ass.

The room was filled with their throaty, pleasurable sounds as both women continued their oral exploration. Artoria discovered that slow circuits around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of Morgan's slit drove her wild. The blonde shifted her grip to pale thighs, digging her fingernails into Morgan's skin as she brought her sex closer to her questing tongue, and the woman above her shuddered.

Not to be outdone Morgan began fucking her slit with her tongue, alternating between shallow penetration and flicking her tongue rapidly across Artoria's clit. Her chin became wet with Artoria's arousal as she licked and slurped, and she made a low pleased sound as the unique taste of her lover coated her tongue. The throaty sounds that left the blonde were a siren's song and Morgan's mind shut down as she acted with a single objective: getting Artoria off. She added her fingers to the mix, massaging the blonde's inner walls purposefully and feeling her entrance clench around the intruders.

"Morgan..."

With that single, husky utterance, Artoria tensed and arched. Her orgasm was even more powerful after having been brought to the edge before, sweeping over her in an all-consuming wave that made her eyes roll back in her head. The white-haired woman didn't let up despite the vice grip around the base of her fingers, performing long, deep thrusts until Artoria came a second time.

Artoria rolled clear of Morgan before she collapsed, her euphoria-weakened muscles no longer able to support her. She took a moment to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling quickly as she sprawled out on her back, and a huge grin spread across her face. 'That was...' Artoria rolled over and cuddled into Morgan's side, unable to stop herself from touching that perfect frame again. She ghosted her fingertips over pale swells and down the flat expanse of the enchantress's abdomen, her gaze settled on the wound she'd inflicted earlier.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, kissing the angry red mark softly.

Morgan shivered. "N-no..."

The headstrong enchantress was surprisingly submissive in bed. Artoria chuckled, brushing her lips over the pulse in the hollow of Morgan's throat. Every time she kissed or nipped the pale column of the enchantress's throat, Morgan trembled and gasped. 'So cute.' She continued to tease the woman as she cupped her sex, slicking her fingertips through Morgan's excitement and getting them nice and wet. This time Artoria entered gently, slipping a single digit inside, up to the second knuckle. She thrust in and out slowly, pressing lingering kisses to Morgan's throat as she worked the enchantress open.

Morgan whined and spread her legs wider in silent askance for more. Artoria's fingers were long, but slender, and just one wasn't enough to satisfy the enchantress. The slow pace also wasn't her cup of tea, but somehow, with Artoria, it was adequate. It helped that she seemed to know just the right angle to massage Morgan's g-spot—something past lovers had failed to do.

Artoria added a second finger, alternating her pace between slow, deep thrusts and quick, shallow ones. Morgan rolled her hips to meet them, dancing lewdly on Artoria's fingertips as she moaned and whimpered. This felt even better than before, stoking the flames of her arousal, but it wasn't long before she craved more. She pulled Artoria to her and the blonde began lavishing attention on her breasts with tongue and teeth, leaving pinpricks of heat in her wake.

A third finger was a tight fit, and the sensation of fullness made Morgan cry out. That out-of-control feeling came back with a vengeance and she tangled her fingers in the fur rug in a futile attempt to ground herself.

"Kiss me." The voice that left her—throaty, desperate—wasn't one she recognized.

Soft lips pressed against hers, muffling her hoarse cries of pleasure as she rutted. She was close. So close. As though reading her lust-addled thoughts, Artoria brought her thumb up to rub against her clit, adding that last bit of stimulation to send her over the edge. When Morgan came, an almost unbearable heat swelled in her lower abdomen and she released a wordless shout.


"The kingdom is rightfully yours."

It had been quiet for so long, save the sound of their ragged breathing, that the statement caught Morgan off-guard. It took her a moment to register the meaning of Artoria's words through the haze of lust and she frowned. Somehow, that title seemed far less important now.

"I have far too much on my plate," Morgan said, gesturing dismissively. When it was all said and done, she didn't want to take her sister's kingdom from her. Besides, she wasn't such a fan of the spotlight and being king meant just that. The disappointment on the blonde's lovely face made her feel deeply guilty and she added, "I suppose if you ever required my magical talents, I could be of assistance. I'd be far better than the talentless fool currently under your employ."

"Done."

Blink. "What?"

"It was my father who hired Merlin in the first place; I never liked him. I will announce my decision in the morning."

"Good riddance." Morgan smirked. "And will I be staying in the east wing as he did?"

Artoria traced nonsensical patterns across Morgan's abdomen with her fingertips. "Nonsense. You'll be attending to me whenever I need you, so I want you close by. Are you opposed to sharing my bed?"

"I'm nothing if not flexible."

"I'll say."

The enchantress scoffed. "You haven't seen anything yet."

"Oh?"

Morgan growled playfully, pouncing on the blonde, and they ended up on the floor a second time. True to her word, she showed Artoria just how flexible she could be, given the proper incentive. The sun had begun to peer over the hills by the time the two crawled back into bed, bone weary and completely satisfied.

"Why did you choose tonight to sneak into my room?" Artoria asked as she cuddled into Morgan's side. "Not that I'm complaining..."

Why had she—? The enchantress sat up suddenly, her intentions for that evening coming back in a rush of clarity that cut through her post-coital haze. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, a maelstrom incited by the fear of Artoria's reaction to the answer to that innocuous question.

A gentle hand on her forearm brought her back to the here-and-now. "What's wrong?"

There was no sense dancing around the subject. "I'm pregnant—"

Now it was Artoria's turn to bolt upright. "WHAT?!"

"—with our child."

"How... How is that possible?"

She had to explain her entire convoluted scheme from start to finish, assuring Artoria that this was no longer the plan.

A full minute passed and the blonde didn't say anything. Morgan shifted, the unfamiliarity of the anxiety that twisted her stomach into knots making her more anxious still. She could always terminate the pregnancy, but for an absurd moment she actually considered having the baby and raising it with Artoria. As a family. That ludicrous idea took root with alarming quickness and a surprising tenacity. Motherhood wasn't something Morgan had ever thought about, so why was she so thrilled at the thought now?

And, still, the blonde said nothing. Her expression was difficult to read and that made Morgan's anxiety bloom into full blown panic. 'Say something—anything,' she silently willed the other woman.

Finally, Artoria mused softly, "I've always liked the name Mordred."

-End-